


Hearts and Dreams Are Also Fragile Things

by vala (valinorean)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-13
Updated: 2011-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-23 06:03:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valinorean/pseuds/vala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dursleys didn't hit Harry, or talk down to him, or criticize his parents. They didn't abuse him, lie to him, or anything of the like. In fact, they made sure he ate three meals a day, and was properly clothed. However, they never once spoke to him if they could help it, and they never EVER touched him. A retelling of the seven years in Hogwarts if things had been different for Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by wendypops & bleedforyou1. This was written for the first Draco Tops Harry Fest. The seven sections used in the fic are based on Neil Gaiman's The Endless.

At the end of the First Wizarding War, a young boy named Harry Potter was left on the doorstep of number 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. His parents had been killed by a Dark Lord named Voldemort, and in a twist of cruel irony, he in turn rid the world of the dark menace. For the time being.

The boy was destined to become a great many things, one of which was to become the youngest Seeker in Hogwarts in over a century. Another was to become a Triwizard Tournament Champion. And finally, as the only person known to survive the Killing Curse, he was to become the defeater of Voldemort once and for all. This, however, would have been achieved only through an act of cruelty and abuse of the young child by his last remaining relatives.

The Dursleys were a family of Muggles, or ordinary non-wizarding folk. They detested unnatural things and shied away from any talk of magic. They took pride in being a perfect and _normal_ family, and thought that they would have achieved it if not for the boy left on their doorstep.

Now, Albus Dumbledore, the only person that Voldemort ever feared, knew of this predicament and how it might affect Harry while growing up. So he had taken it upon himself to caution the Dursleys against doing anything that could harm the only salvation of the wizarding world. The Dursleys, bless their little hearts, quietly agreed to raise the child in the most decent manner they could (for fear of being turned into toadstools, they thought, but they did not tell the old wizard that).

And so the Dursleys raised Harry like any decent folk would. They gave him a room of his own, clothes that fit and a decent meal three times each day. When Harry was old enough to ask about his parents, they did not lie to him or tell him they had died in an accident. They told him that he was a wizard and that no, they knew nothing about that wizard nonsense and could not answer any of his questions about it.

Now the Dursleys may have treated Harry decently as he was growing up, but it was still not as Dumbledore had hoped. The Dursleys never shouted at, hit, nor mistreated Harry in any way, but neither did they treat him with any love or kindness. In fact, they never spoke to him or looked at him if they could help it, and they never _ever_ touched him.

This is the story of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the child who would later become the Saviour of the Wizarding World. And on one fine summer day, he was invited back into the world of magic...


	2. Delirium/Delight

_For Delirium was once Delight. And although that was long ago now,  
even today her eyes are badly matched; one eye is a vivid emerald green,  
spattered with silver flecks that move; her other eye is vein blue.  
Who knows what Delirium sees, through her mismatched eyes?_

\-- From SANDMAN: "Season of Mists"

 

"Hullo. Hogwarts too?"

Harry blinked in surprise at the boy beside him.

Harry Potter was now a young boy of eleven. He had messy black hair and bright green eyes. He was a little short for his age, but he didn't mind. He was a little skinny too, but he liked it that way. But the one thing he really _really_ liked about himself? Being a wizard.

It was the morning of Harry's birthday and he was standing on a footstool in a shop called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, watching in awe as the witch waved her wand to pin his robes to the right length. It was his first time in Diagon Alley, a popular wizarding district in London. In fact, it was Harry's first time to enter the wizarding world.

In late July, he received an owl-delivered letter (yes, by a real owl!) inviting him to a school called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the very same school that his parents attended before they died in the war. Harry knew very little about the wizarding world or his parents, only that they were both wizards and they died trying to protect him.

The very little that Harry knew about the wizarding world were the stories that his Aunt Petunia would grudgingly tell him when she was drunk. She would talk about her sister Lily, and the things she would bring home from that magical boarding school. Magical wands, owls that could carry post, and cauldrons full of strange things! She would tell him how her sister often sneaked off to play with their neighbour, a boy called Snape, and would only return in time for dinner. Harry knew almost nothing about his dad.

His uncle and cousin were no help either as they hardly ever spoke to him. In fact, they would sometimes go out of their way just so they wouldn't have to be near him. Even in school, his cousin Dudley would beat up anyone who tried to talk to him. He had never made any friends.

So when the boy at the robe shop greeted him, he was surprised and had to look behind him just to be sure that it was him that the boy was addressing.

"Yes," Harry answered timidly.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands. Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry stared wide-eyed at the boy. No one had ever said anything more than a couple of words to him, not even his teachers at his old school. And this boy had actually said four whole sentences to him. _Four!_

"Have _you_ got your own broom?"

"No." Harry had heard of wizarding brooms, but had never seen one. He imagined them to be just like the one Aunt Petunia used to sweep the kitchen floor.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry replied. _What's Quidditch?_

" _I_ do—Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," Harry replied wondrously, though not from the question asked. He couldn't help the feeling of awe that started to bubble up from inside him. Was this boy really still talking to him?

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been—imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," said Harry. He wished he could say something a bit more interesting. This had been the longest conversation he'd ever had with anyone in his life and he didn't want it to end!

"I say, look at that man!" The boy was nodding toward the front window.

"That's Hagrid," Harry said proudly. Finally! He was able to say something other than a yes, no or an incoherent grunt. "He works at Hogwarts."

Hagrid was the first person from the wizarding world he had ever met. He was sent to Privet Drive earlier that day to pick him up and accompany him on his first trip to Diagon Alley. The man was nice enough, but his rough voice always boomed with over-enthusiasm and that scared Harry a little bit. They ended up with very little conversation and a lot of awkward silence.

"Oh, I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," Harry said, proud that he knew something the boy didn't.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of _savage_ — lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

Harry frowned at this. He didn't know whether to agree with the boy or not. He was quite mean, Harry thought, but he could be a potential first friend in the wizarding world. In fact he could be his first friend ever!

In the end, he decided to go with the truth. "I think he's brilliant."

" _Do_ you? Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," Harry answered sadly. He wondered if this boy knew more about his parents than he does. Hagrid said they were war heroes and everyone knew about them—everyone except for him.

"Oh, sorry. But they were _our_ kind, weren't they?"

Harry had to think before he understood what the boy was asking. "They were a witch and wizard if that's what you mean."

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

Harry's heart thudded in his chest in panic. If this boy ever found out that he wasn't raised by wizards, would he stop talking to him? But his parents were famous wizards! Surely that would mean something. He would hate to lose a friend before he could even make one.

"That's you done, my dear." Madam Malkin stepped away so Harry could hop down from the stool. He was grateful for the excuse not to answer right away.

Harry bit his lip. He knew he was done here, but he didn't want to go yet. He still wanted to talk to the boy, but he didn't have an excuse to stay. He stood there awkwardly until the other witch that was taking the boy's measurements pronounced him done.

The boy stepped off the stool and saw that Harry was still there. He raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

Harry took a deep before saying, "Potter. My name is Harry Potter."

The other boy's forehead wrinkled in concentration before glancing at the scar on Harry's forehead. Then his face cleared in recognition. The boy shot him a grin and said, "Hello Harry. My name is Draco Malfoy. You may call me Draco."

Harry's answering elated grin was evident. But it was quickly shot down when Draco put out his hand. To Harry's horror, he had never imagined that the boy would ask for a handshake. His muscles tensed and his heart raced. He stared long and hard at the hand before saying in a very small voice:

"My hands are dirty."

"Oh." Draco pulled his hand back. A slightly disgusted look crossed his patrician face.

Harry nearly let out a loud sigh of relief, but stopped himself at the last minute.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," Draco said before heading towards the door.

"Yeah, I'll see you there," Harry replied almost shyly.

When the boy finally left the robe shop, Harry whooped in joy, giddy with excitement. He'd finally made his first friend.

It was the best birthday present he'd ever received.

-:-

The second boy who ever spoke to him was Ronald Weasley.

Ron was a boy he met when he was trying to get to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. They ended up sharing a carriage near the end of the train, but the air was strained by awkward silence—Ron in awe at sitting on the train with a famous person, and Harry not having learned the skill for small talk since the Dursleys hardly talked to him. The awkward silence between them was broken when the food cart came along and Harry shared his treats with the boy.

They immediately hit it off once Ron began to talk about Quidditch. It was one of the things Draco had asked when they were in the robe shop, and now Harry was trying to devour all the information he could gather about the game.

They talked about the different kinds of balls, the positions of each player in the team, the types of brooms used in the game and even Quidditch strategies that Harry couldn't even begin to comprehend. He asked about the different Quidditch teams in the league and house teams in Hogwarts.

Ron was in the process of naming the strengths and weaknesses of each of the players of the Chudley Cannons when the door of their compartment slid open and a pale boy with blond hair stepped in. Harry automatically smiled upon seeing his new friend.

"There you are," Draco said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. Why didn't you come and look for me? We have a nice little compartment up front near the Prefects' carriage and it's quite cozy. You should have headed straight there, but never mind that now. Everyone who's anyone has bunked in there and it's much too crowded already."

Harry grinned, remembering how Draco could talk on and on about anything. Beside him, Ron began to fidget, and only then did Draco notice that there was someone else in the compartment with them. "Goodness, you're already friends with a Weasley? Well, you may keep him if you must—" "Hey!" "—but I'm going to have to stay with you. Can't have people commenting about the company you keep."

Harry watched amusedly as Draco, uninvited, sat gracefully on the seat across from them right beside the chocolate treats. The blond gave a snobbish sniff before delicately plucking a small honey candy from the pile, all the while talking about what they would do in Hogwarts, the classes they were going to take, and the Houses they would be sorted in ("I'll be in Slytherin, of course. We'd have a great time in school if you became one as well"). Beside him, Ron began to fume at the snooty way the newcomer was behaving.

Although it seemed that Draco already knew Ron, Ron had not said anything to indicate that he knew Draco, so Harry politely introduced them to each other. "Um, Ron, this is Draco Malfoy," Harry said.

Ron coughed—sniggered, actually—and Draco glared at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you?" Draco sneered, but whatever else he was about to say was cut off when the train jerked.

Harry immediately flinched when Ron bumped into his shoulder. His breath hitched and he squashed himself into the window as Ron tried to regain his balance by grabbing onto his upper arm. He closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten.

"Blimey, what was that?" Harry heard Ron mumble before releasing his death grip from Harry's arm. When Harry slowly opened his eyes, he immediately saw Draco staring at him intently. Harry bit his lower lip. Oh God, did Draco see that?

Another jerk of the train caused Ron to collide roughly against him again. Harry had to turn his head away so that Ron wouldn't see him squeeze his eyes shut and hold his breath. His muscles tensed and his heartbeat began to quicken. He felt the beginnings of light-headedness that signalled he was on the verge of fainting. He forced himself not to hyperventilate.

Suddenly, Harry heard the clatter of falling objects on the floor and his eyes popped open in reflex. It came as a surprise to him when he saw the candies on the floor. He looked curiously at Draco, who was staring impassively at the fallen items. He didn't think that the train had jerked again, not enough for the candies to fall at least.

"Oh look, Weasley," Draco said in a practised drawl. "The food fell. You better sit here and make sure they're still completely edible." Without even waiting for Ron to answer, Draco got up and planted himself between Ron and Harry, surreptitiously shoving the redhead towards the other seat.

"What am I, your slave Malfoy?" Ron said outraged, but moved all the same.

Draco muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'our house elves live better than you.' As soon as Draco moved away to give him more room, Harry began to breathe easier. His head began to clear and his heartbeat began to calm. When Draco sat down on the other end of the seat, Harry visibly relaxed. He felt his muscles loosen and a long deep breath eradicated any signs of nausea he was feeling earlier. He didn't know why Draco did what he just did, but he shot the boy a small grateful grin and an apologetic shrug of his shoulders nonetheless. Draco only responded with one arched eyebrow, and if he was able to figure out what was wrong with Harry, he never let on.

The rest of the train ride was pleasant enough, or as pleasant as could be with Ron and Draco trying to out-insult each other. They would start an argument and border on Hexing each other, but Harry would only laugh quietly and the two would back away, content with glaring daggers at each other.

By the time they were nearing Hogwarts, they'd been joined by a girl named Hermione ("What, a Mudblood too, Harry?" "Shut it, you miserable inbred."), another boy named Neville ("Why would you bring a toad to school?" "Better than your half-dead rat, Weasel."), and Draco's hulking friends that looked more like bodyguards than anything else, really ("Can they even _speak_?" "Conversation with them is far better than with you, I'll have you know." "Just stop it, you two!").

  
 _Delight is a funny thing. It sometimes blinds you, preventing you from seeing the bad things that come with the good. Or perhaps it allows you to see beyond the evil in others, only finding the goodness within. And you'll never really know which it is because at that instant, all you know is that you're deliriously happy._


	3. Despair

_In her world there are so many windows. Each opening shows her an existence  
that's fallen to her -- some only for moments, others for lifetimes. _

\-- Despair's realm, in SANDMAN: "Brief Lives"

 

"What just happened there, Harry?"

Harry turned dejectedly towards the demanding voice that floated over the cheering noise of the Ravenclaw House.

It was Gryffindor's first game of the season. In fact, it was Harry's first Quidditch game since making the team as a Seeker.

Harry remembered the first flying lesson during their first year. Slytherin and Gryffindor had been grouped together on their first lesson, and Draco, braggart that he is, had also been true to his word about being able to fly decently. A landing mishap on Neville's part (completely expected, of course) had left them without Madam Hooch for a few minutes while she accompanied the accident-prone boy to the infirmary. Left with free rein, Draco had insisted that he teach Harry to fly one-on-one. Harry adamantly refused, of course, but when Draco picked up Neville's forgotten Remembrall from the ground, coupled with a taunt ("Come on Harry, or I'll throw Longbottom's Remembrall into the forest!"), Harry had no choice but to fly after him.

What had initially been a challenge had resulted in a delightful game of chase. Harry was a natural on a broom, and the exhilarating feel of the wind on his face had him chasing after the Slytherin all over the Hogwarts grounds. By the time they got back, Madam Hooch had already dismissed the rest of the class and was waiting for them with a note for detention and an invitation to try out for their house teams the next year.

And try out they most certainly did.

When they were both chosen to be their respective team's Seekers, they both felt excitement and hesitation at becoming rivals in the game. However, Draco's infallible logic that they were truly the most compatible of friends for having been chosen as Seekers for both their teams eased their apprehension over that fact.

They both trained hard for their first Quidditch matches, and when the first game of the season fell on Slytherin and Hufflepuff, Harry was the loudest to cheer when Draco caught the Snitch, earning his team their first win of the season.

Harry excelled during practices, or course. He could even catch the Snitch in under five minutes, but the real game was unlike anything he'd ever experienced.

He didn't realize how much _touching_ there would be!

The Ravenclaw Seeker played roughly, pushing and ramming into him every chance she got. Harry could do little but recoil from the contact and fought hard to keep his mounting distress at bay.

The result was monumentally disappointing.

Draco ran up to him as he trudged from the pitch heading towards the locker rooms, leaving the celebrating Ravenclaws behind them. Harry would like nothing more than a hot shower and to curl up on his bed in the tower, but Draco would have none of it.

"It was your weird touching thing, wasn't it?"

Harry was taken aback with that statement. They had never acknowledged that Draco knew about it, much less talked about it. It was the first time that it had been mentioned since they became friends.

"How do you know about that?" Harry still asked, though he knew what the answer would be.

Draco only rolled his eyes as if it was the most absurd thing in the world to say. "It's not exactly a secret, is it? At least not between you and me." And it was true. Harry could not count the number of times he'd been grateful that Draco had rescued him from one too many potentially embarrassing revelations or protected him from unwanted contact, be it unintentional or just a casual act of affection. "But you won't be able to play like this. It's too painfully obvious that there's something wrong with you. I mean losing to _Ravenclaw!_ What were you thinking, Harry?"

"It's just that she keeps bumping into me," Harry explained, unconsciously rubbing his arm at the memory. "I keep trying to put space between us out of reflex."

"And she knows it," Draco snapped. "And she'll likely abuse it the next time you face off with them unless you do something about it."

"What do you think I should do then?"

"Practise, of course," Draco replied without missing a beat. "You need to get over that touching thing of yours, even if it's just for Quidditch."

Harry eyed his friend speculatively. It would be rather nice to not have to worry about it all the time. "Will you help me?" Harry asked, barely audibly.

When their eyes met, there was something that looked unmistakably like predatory delight that gleamed in Draco's eyes before his cool facade slammed quickly back in place.

"Why would I do that? Your next match is against Slytherin, I don't want to give you any pointers...Oh, but well, fine. Just for a little while, yeah? And don't you dare use what I teach you against me!" And Draco ranted on and on about the many ways one can rough up an opponent without being called for foul.

Harry smiled sadly at his friend. He didn't think it would work.

-:-

"Push me."

"What?"

"I said, push me."

It was Saturday morning and both Harry and Draco were out on the pitch. It was far too early for anyone to be up and it was the perfect time for Harry to work on his Quidditch problem. Unfortunately, the method that Draco was trying to employ left much to be desired, or so Harry thought.

"I don't think so. I'm all about pacifism, thanks," Harry said wryly.

"It's not that hard," Draco said in exasperation. "Here, do it like this."

It only took Draco one step forward before Harry was backing three steps away. The reaction was instantaneous and involuntary, and the knowledge that Draco was about to touch him had Harry's nerves wound as tight as a unicorn tail hair inside a wand's core.

Draco noticed his reaction and snorted in annoyance, but backed off nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," Harry said rubbing his face in anxiety. "I couldn't help it."

"It's okay. Look, I'll just walk slowly." Draco raised his palms up in front of him in a form of surrender. Draco fixed his gaze on Harry, never letting go as he slowly walked closer, one small step at a time and arms still raised. "See, not touching you."

Harry's heartbeat became more and more erratic as Draco crept closer. By the time Draco stopped only a foot away—too close for Harry's comfort—the Gryffindor had broken into a cold sweat and was breathing heavily. _Oh god_ , Harry thought as he fought the urge to faint or vomit on his shoes. His eyes were wild and his stomach was aflutter.

"Shh, it's okay," Draco said soothingly. "Just close your eyes and it'll be as if I'm not even here."

Harry reluctantly obeyed, but it didn't do much good. "I can feel you standing there. And I most certainly can hear you breathing," Harry said. He already knew that Draco was close, and if he reached out, no doubt he'd encounter the Slytherin. He kept his hands clenched firmly at his sides.

"Do you?" came the very faint whisper in his ear.

Shocked at the nearness of the sound and the ghost of a warm breath over his neck, Harry's eyes snapped open and saw Draco's face far too close to his own. His throat tightened and his entire body stiffened as if he'd been hit with a _Petrificus Totalus_. He couldn't even take a stumbling step backward.

It all lasted for half a second before Harry found himself sprawled on the ground.

Draco had pushed him. Hard.

"What the hell was that for?!" Harry spluttered.

"Oh good," Draco drawled. "You're just angry that I pushed you. You didn't go mental at the fact that I touched you."

Harry's mouth opened and closed several times. It was true, he had thought about Draco touching him only after the blond had mentioned that fact. He couldn't quite decide if it was shock, embarrassment or anger that he was feeling. He settled for indignation.

"That actually hurt you know," Harry snapped.

"Are you going to do anything about it, _Potter?_ " said Draco mockingly. There was a challenging glint in his eyes as Draco crossed his arms over his chest, as if he was waiting for Harry to retaliate, to push him back.

Harry knew Draco was baiting him with the use of his last name, but he couldn't summon enough anger to rise to the challenge. Harry just continued glaring from his position on the ground.

"Thought so," Draco sneered. "Well, come on then, we'll do something else."

-:-

Draco had finally challenged Harry to a one-on-one Seeker's game. They had planned on practising playing rough, but so far Harry had evaded Draco's every manoeuvre. Harry was actually pretty good at reading his opponents' every move, but that had become more detrimental than helpful with his game. Draco tried every dirty trick in the book he knew: blagging, blatching, cobbing, and even blurting. But Harry elegantly sidestepped them all with his amazing intuition.

Then it finally happened.

Draco was blagging, grabbing onto Harry's broom tail in an effort to dislodge him from his intent pursuit of the Snitch, when one of the twigs from Harry's Nimbus broke off. There was a moment of stunned silence when the two suddenly jerked to a stop in mid-air. Draco's eyes were as round as saucers as he held about half a foot of broken twig in front of him. Harry's face heated up before he shouted:

"MALFOY I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Without warning, Harry suddenly rammed his body hard against Draco, sending the Slytherin spiralling down. But Draco quickly recovered and, to Harry's surprise, laughed loudly.

"Well, you're going to have to catch me first before you can kill me, Harry." With that, Draco zoomed off, waving the broken twig tauntingly in the air.

Harry quickly went in pursuit. Hot fury fuelled him to push his broom's speed beyond its limit and Draco had to use all the tricks he knew just to evade Harry's assault. They had been chasing each other around the pitch for some time and before Harry knew it, Draco had slyly manoeuvred them into chasing the Snitch again. Harry found himself alongside Draco, who was trying to elbow his way into the lead. Using his anger and adrenaline to propel him towards the Snitch, Harry pushed back roughly, trying to block Draco's flight path. They were now playing a rough and brutal Seeker's game that could have called twenty fouls in the span of five minutes and neither Seeker was intent on giving up.

The game ended when Harry was finally able to shove Draco so hard that he had to give up the chase to keep from falling off his broom. Harry was able to catch the Snitch easily after that and with panting breaths and aching limbs, they finally collapsed side by side on the grassy knoll just off the pitch. Harry waited for their breathing to even out before turning to his friend.

"Draco?" Harry said softly.

"Mm?" Draco turned his head to fix his gaze at Harry.

"Thanks," Harry said. A small smile of gratitude was on his lips.

Draco smiled in return. "Aren't you glad we're both Seekers and I can help you out?"

"Yeah, good thing I'm in Gryffindor then. Otherwise you wouldn't have gotten the spot," Harry teased.

"Hah, you wish," Draco retorted. They spent a few minutes in companionable silence before Draco spoke again. "You know, I still can't believe you chose your Weasel over me."

"You were being a right arse," Harry replied amusedly. They'd had this conversation lots of times before, but Draco could never seem to get over the fact that he became a Gryffindor.

"We could have been housemates, you know. We'd have all our classes together, eat at the same table during meals, and have our study breaks together," Draco said.

Harry smiled wistfully. It _would_ have been great if they could do all that, but he was content being a Gryffindor. He had made great friends there and he loved being high up in the tower.

"You know, I actually asked the Hat to sort me into your house," Harry said. He remembered last year when Draco was sorted into Slytherin. He wished to be sorted there so hard that he kept thinking it over and over until the Sorting Hat was placed on his head. To his surprise, the Hat answered back. "It said I could go there, but I might not be comfortable." He didn't tell Draco exactly what would make him uncomfortable. He didn't need to.

They fell into comfortable silence after that, just watching the clouds. A few minutes later, they started another Seeker's game. But without his initial anger to back him up, Harry started shying away from the rough contact again.

When Harry went back to the tower that afternoon, he couldn't help but feel just a little bit dejected.

  
 _Despair is always everywhere. It doesn't need elaborate schemes that end with utter failure. It doesn't need grand gestures that lead to tragedies. It is content having the little things, the everyday things that people take for granted. Despair is content taking the things that matter most._


	4. Desire

_Never a possession, always the possessor, with skin as pale as smoke, and eyes  
tawny and sharp as yellow wine: Desire is everything you have ever wanted.  
Whoever you are. Whatever you are. Everything. _

\-- From SANDMAN: "Season of Mists"

 

"Shh..."

"Oh don't you shush me, this was your idea in the fir—,"

"SHH!"

Harry turned to glare at Draco, and the other boy clamped his mouth shut before crossing his hands over his chest.

They were trying to sneak out of the castle, on their way to Hagrid's pumpkin patch, by using the side door that led to the greenhouses. They planned on rescuing Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, from being given a Dementor's Kiss and Harry insisted that they could only do that if they free Buckbeak, one of Hagrid's hippogriffs.

Harry was able to coerce Draco into helping him, much to the other boy's annoyance.

"Honestly, Harry," Draco began again, this time in furious whispers. "Do you really think I'd help you after that thing nearly tore my arm off? Why don't you just ask for help from Granger and your Weas—,"

"Shut up!" Harry hissed back. "This is partly your fault, you big crybaby."

"It isn't my fault the school nurse saw fit to inform my father about my accident!" Draco retorted. "Besides I didn't know he'd have that horrible thing executed."

"Just shut up, will you?" Harry suddenly halted. "There! Did you hear that?"

And sure enough there was a muffled noise coming from the side of the greenhouse closest to them. Curiosity piqued, the two boys slowly crept closer to the unmistakable sounds of furious whispering. They quietly entered one of the greenhouses to get a better view of whoever was out there from the window. They saw the shadows of two male students, seventh years from what little Harry could determine. And as the two moved slowly towards the greenhouse, the light of the moon illuminated their faces.

"Isn't that your housemate?" Harry whispered curiously. "And Roger Davies?"

"That's Montague!" Draco gasped. "And what the hell is he doing with that Ravenclaw Chaser?"

"Draco, what are they...?" Harry asked tentatively. Because at that moment, the two seventh years had launched themselves at each other, seemingly devouring each other's faces.

Draco gave a strangled gasp as he choked out a curse. "Merlin's balls! I didn't know Montague swings that way."

Harry watched as Draco stared round-eyed and Harry followed suit, watching the scene unfold before them. Montague and Davies had apparently met for a midnight rendezvous. Harry's skin began to prickle at the uninhibited display of touching—no, _groping_ —happening in front of him. He couldn't imagine being that close to another person, much less touch another person in a very intimate manner, just like the way the two seventh years were doing right now. It wasn't as if it was the first time he'd seen something like that either. He'd seen it on the telly, of course. But _this?_ This was different. It was the first time he'd seen it in person and it made him want to turn away from the despicable act.

Except he couldn't.

Harry was morbidly fascinated as he watched the roaming limbs and mouths of the two. Their bodies were pressed so close that a parchment wouldn't even fit between them. And the hands, _the hands!_ There were two pairs of hands that couldn't seem to stop touching every inch of the other's body—the torso, the arms, neck, hair and they were even cupping the other's arse! It's something that made his hairs stand on end. He spared a glance at Draco to see if his friend was feeling the same revulsion he was feeling. But when he turned, he was shocked to see the expression on his friend's face.

Draco's face was one of intense fascination, as if he couldn't get enough. His eyes were wide and shining, his pupils were dilated, and his breath was uneven and shallow. Harry knew his friend enough to know that Draco was finding the show very _very_ interesting. Stimulating. Perhaps even appealing.

In short, it was the exact opposite of Harry's reaction.

But before Harry could comment, the two seventh years had started removing their clothes and that was it for him. He closed his eyes, turned away and covered his ears with his hands before crouching under the windows.

He didn't understand how his friend could find something like that interesting, much less appealing. He thought about all the other times he'd seen Draco touch people. He was always shoving Ron whenever he got the chance. He would always kiss Pansy's hand while affecting a gentlemanly manner, and she would always laugh at his antics and would curtsy like a proper lady in return. And sometimes Draco would circle Crabbe and Goyle's necks, one on each arm as he whispered devious plans on how to make Hufflepuffs cry.

Now that he thought about it, Draco was really a very tactile person. Not that he was openly affectionate, but maybe it was his way of showing he cared about his friends, Harry thought. He felt oddly jealous because he never seemed to get the same kind of treatment from his friend. Sure Draco knew how Harry feels when someone gets into his personal space, but he couldn't help but feel left out as well because Draco had never nudged him in the ribs when he was making a crack at someone, or that he had never gotten a reassuring pat on the back whenever he feels down.

A stray thought wishing that Draco would touch him like that someday left him feeling both hopeful and revolted at the same time.

After a few minutes, he felt Draco nudging his sneaker with the toe of his expensive boot.

"It's over," Draco said impassively. "You can get up now."

And indeed the two boys were now straightening their clothes and casting _Scourgify_ on each other. Harry didn't even want to imagine what they did to warrant casting _that_ many cleaning spells on their robes. But as they parted, they did something that nearly turned Harry's world upside down.

The older Slytherin gently cupped the Ravenclaw's cheek and placed a light parting kiss on his lips.

Harry had never seen anything like it. The light touch, the fleeting kiss, and the smile that graced both their faces when their eyes met. It was a different kind of physical contact that had Harry's stomach aflutter and his chest aching with longing for something he'd never experienced before: a loving touch.

It was that simple act of tenderness that had Harry thinking that maybe, _just maybe,_ touching another person intimately wasn't so bad after all.

  
 _Desire is a master manipulator. It will charm you and seduce you. It promises to learn all your weaknesses and uncover all your secrets. And then it will turn something you despise the most into something you want to covet. Desire will take you when you least expect it to._


	5. Destruction

_"You know, Barnabas, there are those who claim that for unquestioning  
respect and eternal devotion, all one needs is a dog."  
"Hey, schmuck, devotion you've got. Perjury isn't in the job description." _

\-- Destruction and Barnabas, in SANDMAN: "Brief Lives"

 

"Where the fuck is Weasley? I'm going to kill him!"

Draco was pounding at the portrait of the Gryffindor tower entrance, making the Fat Lady squeak in fright in the process. The portrait slowly swung open and Hermione tentatively slipped out. She eyed him warily.

"I need to talk to Weasley, Granger," Draco said icily.

"Look, Draco. It's nobody's fault," Hermione said, trying to pacify Draco's homicidal behaviour. "Ron is just jealous of Harry for being famous and getting all the attention, even if we both know that Harry didn't ask for it. He has five brothers to compete against at home, and then there's you when they're here in school. Harry's his best friend, but he always gets shunted aside in favour of you. He puts up with it, but I suppose this is one time too many…"

"Jealousy?" Draco laughed hollowly. "That's what all this is about? Harry hasn't been to any of the meals in the past two days. He won't even talk to me in classes when I ask him what's wrong. And now he's missing and I can't find him!"

"Draco…"

"That really says a lot about Weasley's friendship," Draco spat with unveiled disgust. "He can drown in jealousy for all I care, but he has no right to accuse Harry of cheating his way into the Tournament."

"Nobody's accusing anyone of anything—"

"Then why can't he believe that Harry's telling the truth—"

"Because he won't even tell me how he did it!"

The two whirled around to see Ron standing at the portrait hole with his arms crossed against his chest. They didn't realize that their argument had been so loud that the entire Gryffindor common room could hear them. Ron quickly stepped out of the room and swung the portrait shut. He turned to glare at Draco.

"I don't care that he's been chosen for the Tournament," Ron began angrily. "I don't even care that he found a way to put his name in the Goblet without telling me! But why did he have to lie about it?"

"Perhaps it escaped your puny Gryffindor brain, but have you considered the fact that he didn't do it? That he's _not lying?_ "

"Yeah? Well maybe _you're_ the one who did it, seeing as you know all about Dark magic. Maybe _you_ were the one who broke the Age Line!"

"That's it!" Draco snarled before launching himself at Ron.

"Stop it!" Hermione shrieked as fists flew in the air.

They shoved at each other in a tangle of flailing fists and limbs. Hermione took out her wand intending to body bind them both when a loud gasp permeated through the noise of the fight. All three turned to where the sound came from.

At the end of the hall, just by the landing of the stairs, stood Harry. Shock was clearly written on his face. And before any of them could react, he was already running back down the staircase.

"Harry, wait!" Draco called after him, shoving Ron aside to run after Harry.

Draco dashed towards the stairs and cursed when the staircase began to move, preventing him from following. He back-pedalled and took a different set of stairs, but by the time he got to the landing, Harry was nowhere to be seen. He tried to look for Harry everywhere, visiting the boy's favourite haunts. Draco had almost given up when he remembered one of Harry's favourite places that he rarely visits alone.

Hoping against hope, Draco began to trudge up to the Astronomy Tower.

-:-

It was nearly twilight when Draco reached the Astronomy Tower. The view was beautiful up at the tower as the last of the dying lights of the afternoon sun vanished beyond the clouds. Draco scanned the place for Harry, but was disappointed when not a single strand of his messy hair was in sight.

Draco was about to head back down when the tell-tale shimmer of Harry's Invisibility Cloak was pulled off and dropped to the ground. Harry was slumped in a shadowy corner of the tower, away from the airy windows and open spaces. Dusk had settled and Draco strained his eyes to make out his friend's faint silhouette. Harry was sitting on the ground, knees tightly drawn to his chest. His arms were folded above his knobbly knees and his face was hidden away, tucked underneath them.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief and slowly walked towards Harry. He pushed the Invisibility Cloak aside and crouched in front of Harry.

"Hey," Draco whispered softly. "Are you okay?"

Harry shook his head minutely in answer.

Letting out a puff of breath, Draco moved to sit beside Harry and leaned against the wall. "Look, I know you're upset about the Goblet—"

"S'not that," Harry's near incoherent mumble from underneath his arms cut him off. Harry raised his head from its hiding place and leaned against the wall. He stretched his legs out in front of him and gathered the Invisibility Cloak on his lap.

Draco had never seen his friend this vulnerable nor devastated before. It was a look he didn't much care for.

"It's just that I never had any friends before I came here," Harry began. "For eleven years, Dudley was the closest thing I had to a friend and he doesn't even talk to me. Ron is the second friend I ever made after you. Remember back on the train in first year?" Draco smiled wryly at the memory. "I've never fought with a friend before -- I never had any to begin with. I...I don't know how to do this."

"But _we_ fight a lot," Draco said quietly.

"Yeah, we do," Harry said with a smile and turned to look at Draco.

"But I'm not enough of a friend to be counted? Is that it Harry?" Draco's voice was calm, but the hurt was evident as he met Harry's gaze.

"No," Harry shook his head firmly. "You and I, we're different. We can fight all we want, but at the end of the day I know we'll still be friends."

The pain in Draco's chest slowly began to ease. He didn't even realize that it was aching, not until Harry's words soothed him.

"But with Ron, it's different," Harry continued as he stood up and began to pace while running a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. "I hate that he thinks I'm lying and he doesn't believe me even when I say I had nothing to do with it. I don't think I can be friends with someone like that. And it hurts."

Draco frowned at the way Harry's voice broke at the last word. He stood up as well but was at a loss on what to do. As much as he loved making Weasley's life miserable, he understood the depth of Harry's friendship with the other Gryffindor. Although it would be ridiculously easy at this moment, he refused to do or say anything that would destroy Harry's friendship with Weasley completely. Draco wanted to comfort Harry the only way he knew how, but he knew the other boy would never allow it and restrained himself from taking the other boy into his arms.

Draco almost didn't hear when Harry whispered, "I just don't want to lose anyone."

And with those words, Draco's resolve finally crumbled.

He stepped in front of Harry who was still pacing in a tight circle, grabbed the Gryffindor roughly by the shoulders, and pulled him into a crushing embrace.

"NO! Don't touch me!"

Harry struggled to free himself, but Draco's grasp was strong. He could feel Harry's defences kicking in as the first symptoms of his fears began to surface. The other boy's breath grew ragged and Draco swore he could almost feel Harry's thundering heart trying to leap out of his chest.

"Shh," Draco whispered, trying to calm the thrashing boy. "I promise this will make you feel better. If it doesn't you can punch me and I won't even fight back."

Eventually, Harry calmed enough and Draco slackened his arms slightly. But Harry's body was still stiff as a statue, so Draco began to rub soothing circles on his back. It took a while before Harry accepted the pacifying gesture and Draco could feel the tension in the other boy's body slowly melt away, only to be replaced with an uncontrollable trembling.

Draco could only imagine the warring emotions inside of Harry and fervently wished that there existed a certain kind of magic that would make everything better with a flick of a wand. He settled instead on saying the only thing he knew to be true.

"You know you'll never lose me, right?"

And that was all it took before Harry dissolved into a quivering heap as tears borne of both frustration and gratitude spilled forth.

Draco drew Harry into their little corner and sat them both down on the floor again. With his back against the wall and Harry gently cradled against his chest, Draco allowed the other boy to vent out all his fears and anger.

In that moment, everything that ever mattered was within Draco's arms.

-:-

It was in that same position that Hermione found them later that night. They were talking quietly together when Draco noticed her shadow come up the stairs. Surprise was evident on her face at finding them with their heads bent together and Draco's arm wrapped protectively around Harry's shoulder. But her expression quickly changed to profound relief.

"Oh Harry," she sobbed and ran up to them. "We were so worried about you."

She tried to reach out and embrace Harry, but the boy flinched and hid his face on Draco's shoulder. Draco saw the hurt frown that crossed her face, but she backed away nonetheless. Draco wouldn't be surprised if she knew about Harry's problem with being too close to anyone. Nothing ever escaped her notice. Draco knew she sensed Harry's reluctance as well, so instead she just crouched low and placed a light hand on his shoulder.

"I hope you feel better, Harry," she said quietly. "And I'm glad Draco is here with you."

Draco was taken aback at that. They had never been particularly close and this was the first time she had ever acknowledged his presence as a positive influence on Harry.

There was an unreadable look in her eyes as their gazes met over the top of Harry's head. She mouthed a _Thank you_ before getting up to slowly make her way down from the tower.

  
 _We often associate Destruction with violence and grief. We shy away from anything that would topple the constants in our lives. But what we fail to remember is that not all forms of destruction are unpleasant. And not all forms of destruction are unwelcome._   



	6. Dream

_If my dream was true, then everything we know,  
everything we think we know is a lie. _

\-- From Rose Walker's diary, in SANDMAN: "Lost Hearts"

 

"Show me."

"No."

"Let me see."

"No!"

Harry clutched his hand tightly against his chest in an attempt to hide the evidence of his punishment, which only resulted in a tug of war.

"Just let me see so I can heal it, damn it."

Harry quickly got up from the couch, trying to put some distance between him and his Slytherin friend.

"I don't want you to heal it."

He didn't, really. He wanted to keep it as a reminder of the inadequacies of the Ministry. It was something to focus on. He watched warily as Draco gave a weary sigh that Harry knew all too well. It was the patented you-are-an-idiot-Gryffindor-but-I'll-still-be-your-friend-anyway sigh.

"Fine, I won't touch it." Draco patted the space beside him on the couch, urging the other boy to sit beside him. "Just sit here for a bit, will you?"

Harry complied, sitting on the very edge and ready to bolt at the slightest sign of provocation.

"Don't you have things to do elsewhere?" Harry felt it weird to be the one ill at ease in his own common room instead of the other way around. But this particular Slytherin had been in the Gryffindor common room enough times to warrant a personal armchair that no one would dare touch. And except for the glaring contrast in robe colours, the blond could have easily been mistaken as one of them by the way he was sprawled on the sofa.

"I _am_ doing something." The Prefect badge on the Draco's chest would have gleamed if it could as he waved an imperious hand in the air. "I am confronting wayward students who have been caught skulking around the castle long after curfew."

"I was in detention," Harry retorted hotly, folding his arms across his chest.

The blond unexpectedly rubbed his face with his hands, partly from weariness and partly out of frustration. "Why do you keep doing this, Harry?"

"Draco…" They've had this talk before. In fact, they'd been having this talk since the beginning of the term and it would always end at an impasse.

"No, Harry. I understand why you _started_ doing this, but that doesn't exactly mean I approve." Grey eyes glowered intently onto green ones. "I don't mind heading Filch off away from your secret DA meetings. I don't even mind lying to Umbridge about it. But what I don't understand is why you have to provoke her every chance you get. Can't you keep your mouth shut for once instead of piling on the detention?"

"Because I'm not lying! I've seen him with my own eyes," Harry bit his lip. "Everyone knows he's back."

"Exactly!" Draco looked as if he could barely restrain himself from shaking the other boy's shoulder. "Everyone already knows you're telling the truth, so why keep antagonizing the bitch? Is this about your stupid Gryffindor pride getting in the way of self-preservation?"

Harry looked away muttering, "I'm no Slytherin. Self-preservation goes against instincts."

Draco ignored the sardonic remark and they sat in strained silence, each stewing over their own frustrations.

It was Draco who broke the silence when he softly and hesitantly asked, "Can I see?"

This time, Harry relented. The hand that was still clutched against his chest slackened, and Draco tentatively drew the abused hand towards him. He turned the palm over to reveal etched writing on the back. __

_I must not tell lies._

Draco's face turned cold and unreadable upon seeing the words, but the roiling fury underneath was unmistakable. Harry flinched at the vice like grip on his injured hand, but he did not dare pull it away. He watched as several emotions flickered behind grey eyes so fast that he could not even hazard a guess as to what they were.

"I should kill her for this." The wintry voice matched perfectly with the words spoken. It was both a threat and a promise, and Harry did not doubt his friend's ability turn it to reality.

"Yeah, well McGonagall said it was illegal, but since Umbridge is Senior Undersecretary for the Minister..." Harry shrugged his shoulder, but his attempt for nonchalance was only met with vehemence.

"Not only is a Blood Quill _illegal_ , it is also barbaric and Dark in origin." Harry caught the Slytherin revert slightly into his patrician drawl, a sure sign that his emotions were slipping from his control.

The scar itself was ugly, with the blood barely dry and the hand throbbing red from the pain. Writing with the magical quill really was painful, but Harry knew it would not deter him from the truth. Especially when what was written on his hand was a lie.

Harry thought that Draco would finally release his hand when the hold slackened. But just as he was about to pull away, Draco raised the hand to his lips, gently placing a kiss, light as a butterfly's touch, on the aching wound. Harry nearly gasped in surprise. He was shocked, frozen with the intimacy of the action.

Apparently, Draco was surprised by his action as well, as he quickly pulled back and turned away. There was an unmistakable flush colouring the Slytherin's neck. Harry suspected his own face looked the same.

"Sorry," Draco's mumble was barely audible. "I wasn't thinking."

It had been over a year since that night in the Astronomy Tower when Harry last shied away from Draco's touch. He didn't think he would ever wholly be cured of his affliction, but he was content to be able to accept a hug from Hermione without being petrified, or to receive a reassuring pat on the back from Ron that told him he would always be by his side.

As for Draco, the changes in their friendship were nothing short of remarkable. For Harry, it was liberating the way they could sit close together during classes without trying to consciously keep their distance, or to be able to nudge at each other just in time to hide a note being passed when a professor walked by. Draco himself had become more relaxed and carefree now that he didn't need to dance around Harry's fears.

But Harry loved it best when they spend time at the top of the tower, his new favourite place. He would just sit there with his head resting comfortably on Draco's shoulder and Draco's arm draped casually around his waist. They wouldn't talk or do anything else except stare at the vast Hogwarts grounds, lost in their own private thoughts. Harry almost felt _normal_ whenever he was with Draco.

Until today.

Harry's heartbeat had begun to quicken in response to the touch. He felt the light-headedness that usually signalled he was close to fainting. He never thought he'd feel these things again, not when it came to his friend at least. He waited for the laboured breaths or the trembling in his body that usually followed, but they never came. Dazed, Harry stared at his hands and tried to flex each of his fingers. They moved accordingly and the muscles weren't tense.

He was very confused to say the least.

"That's weird," he murmured to himself. His embarrassment forgotten altogether, he turned to Draco who was still awkwardly looking away and said, "Hey, do that again."

Draco appeared startled at Harry's words.

"What?"

"Do that again. The thing you just did a while ago," Harry insisted.

"You're taking the piss," Draco said flatly.

"No! Just—" Harry held out his hand impatiently and waited for Draco to take it again. He was half annoyed that he couldn't put his finger on why he was feeling weird about it. "I thought I was over this..."

Harry saw Draco hesitate before warily taking his hand. The touch was far gentler than usual, as if Draco was afraid of Harry pulling back again.

"Is this...okay?" Draco asked hesitantly.

And there it was again, the slight jolt at the initial contact. Except this time he didn’t feel repulsed by it.

"I think so," replied Harry.

The crease in Draco's brow slowly eased and he gently took Harry's other hand and held them both in his. "How about this?" he asked, a tinge of eagerness began to colour his voice.

Harry's breathing grew shallow and there was a slight contraction in his throat. All the usual signs were familiar to him, all except the lack of anxiety. He gave an encouraging nod and Draco gently released Harry's hands. Harry let both his hands fall together on his lap and Draco covered them with one of his own. There was a shift in Draco's expression and the way the pupils of his grey eyes dilated made Harry swallow nervously.

Then with the other hand, Draco gently traced the scar on his forehead, lightly brushing the dark fringe away. Harry's breath hitched as Draco ran his fingers down his temple, across his cheeks and finally stopped at the crook of his neck.

"Is this okay?"

Harry's nerves were on fire, acutely aware of Draco's lingering touch on his jaw and the way Draco's thumb was rubbing smooth circles in the soft spot just below his ear. Then the image of the two seventh years they saw years ago outside the greenhouses flashed in Harry's mind.

Oh. _Oh!_ Harry thought when he realized why his heart had been trying so hard to break out of his ribs.

And then Draco was closer now. Harry could almost feel the other boy's breath on his face. And when the blond whispered, "Is this okay, too?" Harry had no chance to reply as a soft pair of lips lightly pressed against his.

-:-

"...keeps falling asleep here all the time," were the first words Draco heard as he stirred into consciousness. The voice was unmistakably Weasley's.

"Why doesn't he just ask to use Seamus's bed? He's almost never here anyway since he hooked up with his Hufflepuff girlfriend."

The voice, not to mention the sentiment, sounded a lot like Longbottom. Without opening his eyes, he tried to shift slightly to ease the crick in his neck without letting on that he was awake.

"Dunno, mate. Where is Harry by the way? I'm not about to wake _him_ up. Harry says he's an absolute grouch in the morning."

It wasn't the first time he'd woken up in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. In fact, it had happened so many times that he no longer got disoriented whenever he opened his eyes and saw sunlight brightly glinting off red and gold wall-hangings; a harsh way of waking up in the morning. And in all the times that had happened, he had yet to wake up with Harry nearby. The other boy would usually still be sleeping in his own comfortable bed, the bastard.

It felt like any other day, really. So much so that he wondered if last night was just a dream.

Draco sighed when the conversation began to fade, and when he heard the sound of the portrait closing over the entrance, Draco turned to his side and burrowed further into the warm sofa. A few more minutes surely couldn't hurt.

His mind drifted to thoughts of Harry as he entered the realm of the sandman once more. __

_The land of the Dream King is not always about fairy-tale wishes and rainbows in the sky. Within his realm reside nightmares as well as horrors untold. But if you could live in that nightmare that by far outshines what you face upon waking, would you?_


	7. Death

_I'm there for old and young, innocent and guilty, those who die together  
and those who die alone. I'm in cars and boats and planes, in hospitals and  
forests and abattoirs. For some folks death is a release and for others death  
is an abomination, a terrible thing. But in the end, I'm there for all of them. _

\-- Death, in SANDMAN: "Facade"

 

Harry stared at the map in his hand for the fourth time that day. Draco had gotten so good at avoiding him these past few weeks that Harry had begun using the Marauder's Map just to find him. He was walking down the seventh-floor corridor when he finally saw Draco's dot on the map inside the boy's bathroom just a floor below him. To his surprise Draco's dot was accompanied by another dot that was labelled Moaning Myrtle.

He dashed down the marble staircase and along the passageway below hoping to corner the other boy before he could run away again. When he reached the bathroom, he slowly pushed the door open and slipped inside.

"Don't...I can help you..." Harry could hear Moaning Myrtle croon from one of the cubicles.

"No one can help me," came the hoarse reply. "He'll kill me if I don't do it soon."

It was then that Harry saw Draco standing with his back to the door, his head bowed and his hands gripping either side of the sink. Through the reflection in the cracked mirror, Harry saw his friend—the one person who had always been there for him, always strong and supportive—with tears streaming down his pale face.

His shock was so huge that he was nearly rooted to the spot, watching his friend's entire frame shake as he gasped and heaved through his tears. This shattered and despairing boy was not the Draco he knew. This was not _his_ Draco.

With a final shaky indrawn breath, Draco looked up to the mirror only to find Harry staring at him from over his shoulder. Draco immediately wheeled around, his face equally shocked upon seeing the Gryffindor standing by the door.

Harry unfroze from his stunned state and took a cautious step forward.

"Draco..." His voice was soft but it carried through the dead silence in the bathroom. It was evident that he had heard the conversation, and although he already knew the answer to his question, he asked anyway, "Who's going to kill you?"

Draco visibly tensed and his knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the sink behind him once more. Harry stepped closer and Draco moved back until the edge of the sink was digging sharply into his back.

"I...I have to do it," Draco said, his voice trembling with the effort to sound strong. "There's nothing else I can do."

"You're wrong," Harry said firmly and shaking his head. "You don't need to do anything. You have me. Doesn't that mean anything?"

For a split-second, Draco's face crumpled in anguish, but he was able to school it back into a look of determination.

"But he has Mother," Draco said. "And Father can't help her, not from where he is."

"I'm not sorry about that," Harry said quietly. "There's nothing I can do for him—"

"I know," Draco cut him off. "That's why it's up to me now. I need to do this, so I can go back and save her."

"You can't go back there," Harry pleaded. "We'll figure something out. Dumbledore can help."

Draco only shook his head. "No, Harry. This is the only way. Mother—"

"No!" Harry said with fierce determination. "I won't let you."

Draco's voice dropped and turned to steel. It was a tone that he had never used on Harry—until today. "Don't you dare stop me."

But Harry would not be dissuaded. It was Draco's life he valued above all else.

With a shaking hand, Harry lifted his wand and pointed it at his long-time friend. "No, I won't let you," he repeated more firmly, intent on doing everything he could to prevent Draco from going anywhere.

Draco snarled and whipped his own wand out. "Don't make me curse you, _Potter_."

But instead of answering, Harry started to fling binding spells at the other boy. Draco deflected them and one of the spells hit a cubicle door with a loud bang. Harry fired another spell and Draco easily blocked it. A cistern was smashed and water began to pour everywhere.

With his mind racing trying to think of any spell that Draco didn't know, something he would not be able to divert, Harry remembered an obscure spell from a book of dubious origin. He didn't know what it did, but he knew that Draco wouldn't be able to block it.

 _"Sectumsempra!"_

Blood burst from Draco's chest and face as if an invisible knife had slashed through him. He fell backwards and hit the floor with a loud splash. One white hand was scrabbling at his chest while his wand rolled out of the other and slowly drifted away.

"No—" gasped Harry.

He immediately rushed to his friend's side, splashing water everywhere as he fell on his knees. His face was awash in horror at the sight before him. Draco was shaking uncontrollably and blood continued to flow freely out of the wound, dyeing their clothes and the water surrounding them a gruesome shade of red.

 _Oh my god,_ Harry thought. His entire body was trembling in abject fear and panic. He barely registered Moaning Myrtle screaming _Murder!_ in the background as tears streamed from his eyes, joining the blood and water on his face.

Blood. There was too much blood everywhere.

His mind was frantically screaming for help, but he could not utter even a single word. His entire world was frozen in that one chilling moment he desperately wished wasn't real. And Harry did not even realize that he had moved closer, hovering over his friend's body.

He did not realize that for the first time in his life, it was he who reached out and touched Draco.

With one hand, Harry clung to his friend's torn and blood-soaked shirt, and the other he wrapped around Draco's tightly clenched fist as if it would help to stop the flow of blood. He gripped harder, willing the uncontrollable shaking of Draco's body to stop, but to no avail.

Then Harry heard a loud bang as the door to the bathroom opened. He was roughly pushed aside and he fell into the water with a splash as Snape knelt beside Draco and drew his wand. Their eyes locked for an instant, Snape's eyes bright with fury, before the older man began to mutter an incantation that sounded almost like a song.

The flow of blood began to slow and even looked as if it was receding back into Draco's body. The wounds began to knit back together, and soon enough the flesh on Draco's chest and neck became nearly whole again. He thought he heard the professor muttering something about dittany.

Harry was still gripping the small cloth that had been torn from Draco's shirt when he was pushed aside. He barely registered Snape rising, carrying Draco's limp body and summoning the boy's wand that was bobbing along like a flotsam in a sea of red. For all the healing that Snape had done, Draco still looked dead.

Harry did not hear Snape's command of _"You will wait for me here, Potter"_ before the man strode out of the bathroom, nor the scornful accusations of Myrtle in the background.

He just knelt there on the floor, not heeding the rising water, as he clutched the blood stained cloth against his chest, whispering over and over:

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm sorry…"

  
 _Death is neither fickle nor demanding. It will not examine your motives or your explanations. It will not care if your actions are driven by love or hate. Death can choose to take no one and everyone. But Death's choices are always its own._


	8. Destiny

_The paths fork and divide. With each step you take through Destiny's garden,  
you make a choice; and every choice determines future paths. However, at  
the end of a lifetime of walking you might look back, and see only one path  
stretching out behind you; or look ahead, and see only darkness._

\-- From SANDMAN: "Season of Mists"

 

The foggy haze prevented Harry from seeing any further than his outstretched hand. His glasses sat uselessly on the bridge of his nose, skewed and ruined by spider web cracks running within the circular fames. The fatigue was overwhelming, and he fought hard to keep the threatening darkness at bay. His hand found purchase on the blackened stump of what was once a grand sycamore—one of the many casualties of the recent battle.

Harry leaned heavily on the stump, coughing out dregs of smoke and grime from his lungs. He wondered if he was coughing up death along with the spatter of blood.

He peered out into the fog again. The forest did not seem too still this time; the silence was broken by the rumbling of the castle's foundations and the crackling of the scorched edifice. A dull light glowed from beyond the mist and he strained his eyes to see, wondering of it was his impaired vision or the fog that was keeping the light from focusing into a lantern or a wand-lit _Lumos_.

The fog began to thin and he could see the bobbing of light which was clearly headed his way. It was too high to be held at arm length, which ruled out a Lumos. In fact, it ruled out anything held by a _human_ as far the height of the light was concerned.

He could hear distant voices calling out—was that his name they were calling? He could not make out the words. It sounded foreign and unfamiliar to his ears.

The hand leaning on the tree was now numb from the cold. He began to worry as he realized it had been some time since he felt his other extremities. He tried to wiggle his finger and toes, but could not feel them. He willed his body to move, slowly because he wasn't sure if his limbs were still capable of moving. He sighed in relief when he saw his arms and legs move in the direction his mind had instructed, but he still couldn't feel them.

There was a sharp cry from the direction of the light and he felt the forest stir to life. The cries were drawing nearer and the air was trembling with excitement.

 _Harry! Harry!  
_  
He heard the name being called out again and again. Yes, he thought, as he slowly rolled the name over his tongue. It does sound familiar. He felt sure it was his.

The first of many shadows appeared from beyond the dull glow of the mist. Harry could see them hurrying down from the path that led back to the castle and instinctively knew they were coming for him. He released his hold of the trunk and tried to steady his buckling knees. He took one last fortifying breath and waited for the crowd to arrive.

But a sharp movement caught his eye as a lone figure broke away from the rest and all but flew towards him, outrunning the others. He rubbed at his eyes from beneath his broken glasses, wishing that he could see whether the person was friend or foe.

Friend, he decided, as the person cried out his name in distress, anger and undeniable relief.

"Harry!"

The hood of the boy's cloak fell as the wind whipped against his speeding form. A shock of pale hair, as light as the colour of moonlight, appeared.

He knew that hair. It was unmistakable. Yet, he could not put his finger on why it was so familiar. Neither could he rationalize why it was so important for him to remember.

As he approached, Harry wondered if he was seeing an old friend. Probably a friend, he thought, as his heart swelled inexplicably. There was a sharp pain as the features of the other boy became clearer and the blazing grey eyes cut through his very soul.

The boy was now barely ten feet from him and was about to barrel through him. He tried his best to lift the corners of his lips in greeting, hoping his smile was passable. But instead of an answering smile, all he felt was a solid force in his jaw before his head snapped back, and saw the ground fast approaching his line of sight and rising up to meet him.

Then strong arms wrapped around his torso, hauling him back up. Did he fall? He could not tell. He would have rubbed his jaw to feel if it was broken, but he feared he was too numb from the cold to even feel the pain.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" The low growl in his ear was cracking with emotion. He knew that voice. He had heard it many, many times in his short life. "Don't you ever fucking do that to me again, you hear me? Never again!"

It was also a testament to how cold his body was, the fact that he could not feel the bone crushing embrace enveloping him. He could only tell by the way his lungs were screaming for much needed air.

But he did not care about that.

He thought he could stand not breathing as long as the other boy did not let go.

Harry couldn't remember why, but he instinctively knew that it had been a long time since he'd last seen this boy. He also didn't understand why, but Harry knew that he was safe here in his arms.

The long night was now over.

Before he finally allowed himself to succumb to the darkness, he asked the only logical question in his mind:

"Are you speaking to me again?"

-:-

"Sorry I punched you," was the first thing Harry heard when he woke up.

He immediately wanted to pass out again. There was that voice. The voice he knew could only belong to Draco.

"I hardly felt it," Harry tried to say. He was unsure whether his words were coherent enough. His throat was dry and the pathetic croak he was able to utter barely resembled proper speech.

"You were out for three days." There was a soft chuckle. "They all thought that after surviving all that, I did you in with a single punch."

"You should have thrown two," was what Harry wanted to say, but it came out worse than a bullfrog with sore throat.

"Water?" Draco asked even as he silently conjured a glassful with _Aguamenti_.

Harry nodded gratefully. Draco helped him to sit up and he drank three glasses to soothe his parched throat. When he was finally done, he settled back into the bed.

"Where am I?" he asked quietly. The room was dim and unfamiliar to him.

"Spare room near the Infirmary," Draco answered easily. "They didn't want you staying with everyone else, considering the condition you were in."

"Oh," he replied, hardly caring about the answer. He was too busy looking at Draco's face.

"Pomfrey kept you under for three days. She said that when the potions had run their course, you'd wake up fine, if not sore all over."

Harry just kept staring at his friend. They were talking as if they hadn’t just gone through and survive the war and the past year hadn't happened. They were talking as if they were still friends.

Harry couldn't take it.

"Where have you been?" he whispered.

Draco's previously easy attitude faded and his face darkened before he could look away. Harry could feel the tension emanating from him, as if deciding on how to answer the question. Finally, Draco sighed and said, "I was at Spinner's End."

"All this time?" Harry asked barely audibly.

Draco turned his sad eyes to Harry. "I'm sorry, I couldn't tell you. The wards at the place prevented me from leaving...or writing."

"Why?"

"Snape."

It was all the answer he needed and Harry had to look away at that. He knew that the only way Draco could leave was if the wards dissolved— if the person who created the wards was dead.

"He took you away that night. I kept begging him but he refused to say anything," Harry said. He bowed his head and his hair fell over his eyes. "He didn't want me anywhere near you. He wouldn't tell me where you were. I...I thought it was you who didn't want to see me."

"Harry..." Draco hesitated before taking his hand. "Don't."

"But..."

"Don't. It doesn't matter." Then Draco gave him a soft wistful smile. "Remember what you said? That at the end of the day, we'll always have each other?"

Harry looked at their entwined hands and tried to blink back the rapidly forming tears. He knew those words to be true. He was the one who said them, after all. They sat there for a good long while, neither wanting to bring up the painful memories of that night.

Harry remembered all the time they spent together in their fifth year following the night of Umbridge's detention. The days following were some of the most blissful days Harry had ever had. Draco's warm body against his used to feel as natural as breathing not too long ago, but now even Draco's hand in his felt odd and out of place.

Harry tried to tug his hand away.

"Harry..." Draco said, not releasing his hold.

"You were gone a long time, Draco," Harry said. "You were gone and I knew it was my fault."

Harry began to tremble and in a flash, Draco was beside him on the bed, holding him close. He could feel Draco's hands trying to rub soothing circles on his back and his lips placing soft kisses on top of Harry's head. He almost melted against the warm embrace. He didn't think he'd ever feel Draco arms around him again, and Harry told him so.

Draco tightened his hold on Harry a little bit more. "But I'm here now," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

He felt Draco gather Harry's hands into his and began to kiss the tips of his fingers, warm breath sending prickles down his hands and up his arms. It was a sign of forgiveness to the hands that had done him harm. Harry sobbed in gratitude at the gesture. He let his head fall forward to rest against Draco's forehead, their warm breath mingling together over their clasped hands.

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered.

"Shh. None of that," Draco whispered back.

Then Draco tilted his head and leaned in to place a slow chaste kiss on his lips.

"Do you trust me, Harry?" he asked.

And he nodded. Because even with a pointed wand at his chest and a curse on his lips, he knew he'd still trust Draco with more than his life.

And then Draco was easing him down on the bed, carding his hand through Harry's hair and whispering soothing words that didn't make much sense. Harry drew a ragged breath. He didn't think he'd ever feel this again. He had stopped hoping long ago.

Warm hands reached to gently touch the skin under Harry's shirt. Harry gasped, his surprise woven with fear. This was a line they had never crossed before. They've hugged, held hands, kissed, and during one intense snogging session, Draco dared to let his hands wander below Harry's waist. But they've always touched each other above their clothes. It was never like this.

His nervous green eyes snapped to intense grey ones that were silently pleading for his acquiescence. "Trust me?" came the soft whisper, and Harry closed his eyes in a silent prayer before nodding.

Draco's hands began to explore under Harry's shirt, hesitant at first but growing bolder when Harry didn't push him away. He used his fingers, palm and knuckles to touch everywhere and Harry found himself arching slightly against the light pressure on his skin. Blazing heat trailed wherever Draco's fingers passed and the stark contrast of Draco's cold fingers against his heated skin left a prickling sensation that had Harry craving for more. Harry almost forgot why he was ever afraid in the first place.

But it wasn't enough—he wanted to feel more of Draco. His need was far greater than his fear of being touched, and in a bold move that belied his very nature yet greatly proved his Gryffindor courage, he reached up and began to unbutton Draco's shirt.

It was Draco's turn now to be surprised, but was pleased by Harry's action. Harry worked on the buttons, slowly working his way down. But it only took three buttons before his hands began to tremble, unable to follow through with his initial gesture. Draco took his hands and kissed them before resuming the act that Harry began.

Draco made quick work of the buttons with his deft fingers and began to shrug away the shirt from his shoulders. But even before he could finish removing his clothing, Harry was scrambling up from his position and was staring at Draco's chest and neck in agitation.

"Oh no—" Harry whispered in horror. He raised one hand as if to touch the thin silvery lines that criss-crossed Draco's torso. Then Harry pulled back at the last second when he realized what he was about to do.

"It's okay," Draco said huskily, capturing Harry's wrist and pulling it forward. "You can touch it."

But Harry pulled his hand away, shaking his head. He barely realized that apologies were tumbling from his mouth in barely audible whispers.

"Hey," Draco said softly, cupping Harry's face in his hands. "Look at me."

Harry obeyed, but his eyes were guarded. His eyes would flicker over and over to the scars on Draco's chest and he would feel a stab of pain every time.

"You can touch it," Draco whispered.

Harry looked up at him with wide fearful eyes. Then Draco took his wrist again and gently led his fingers closer to the lines on his throat. Draco released Harry's hand suspended in the air, waiting for Harry to initiate the touch on his own.

Harry knew it was deliberate. Although he would gladly accept and respond to Draco's touch, he himself had only ever touched Draco once on his own. And that was when he had been delirious with guilt on a flooded bathroom floor. But now, Draco was waiting for him to touch him.

Draco's face was unreadable. Harry had been hoping for a smile or at least a nod in encouragement, but there was none.

Harry strengthened his resolve and slowly directed his hand forward until he was very lightly touching the thin line on Draco's throat. Harry heard Draco's breath hitch at the initial contact. And then he slowly traced his fingers down the many, many lines on his chest. The scars were thin and only noticeable when a light cast a shadow on it, but Harry could feel each ridge, each bump on the marred flesh. He could hear Draco's breath grow ragged as he brought his other hand up to join the silent exploration of the first.

And then Harry was leaning closer, so close that he could imagine hearing Draco's heartbeat. He placed a soft reverent kiss on the largest scar on Draco's chest. A gesture of humility and apology.

Then Draco was hauling him back up, one hand on either side of his face and capturing his mouth in a searing kiss. The rest of their clothes were carefully removed and the warm hands continued their exploration, this time with Harry participating equally. He couldn't stop the whimper that escaped when Draco's hands began to travel lower as he surrendered to the first of many loving touches he received that night.

They mapped each other's body thoroughly. There was no place left untouched, no skin left unkissed. And then finally, when Draco hovered near his entrance and asked, "May I?" Harry's only answer was to grab him and roughly force the man to enter him.

Draco took him again and again that night. Touching him in ways he knew that no one else could, that no one else ever would.

-:-

"Hey, do you ever think that things could have happened differently if we hadn't met on that day at the robe shop?"

"Mm, maybe. We could even have ended up as enemies, you know. But I'd like to think that no matter what happened, we'd still end up like this."

  
 _In the end, it doesn't matter what happened with our lives. That no matter the changes, even if the young Slytherin is still the master of the most powerful wand in the wizarding world, or that the boy who wielded a camera instead of a wand was the one who pulled Gryffindor's sword from the Hat, or that the final battle was fought in the forest and not within the castle walls, the end is still the same. Evil was defeated and the hero found his happy ever after. And that's all there is to it._

 _Destiny truly is inescapable._

**Author's Note:**

> Haphephobia is a rare specific phobia that involves the fear of touching or of being touched. It is an acute exaggeration of the normal tendencies to protect one's personal space, expressed as a fear of contamination or of the invasion, and extending even to people whom its sufferers know well.


End file.
